Wings
by SNOGIRL
Summary: After Too Far Gone. Beth's shirt gets trashed after she takes down a walker, and Daryl gives her his vest. Thing is, he thinks that the angel wings suit her far better than him.


**Wings**

**I'll try to keep this short and to the point, but remember, key word here, **_**TRY**_**. Let's see, few things about me: This is my first Walking Dead fic, I believe that it's inevitable that Beth and Daryl are going to get together and that Daryl is going to kill whoever took Beth, and I am going to have absolutely no life after Walking Dead is finished. **

**All right, summary time: Beth's shirt gets torn while fighting off a walker, and spattered with gunk when she kills it and is basically unwearable. Daryl gives her his vest until they find something else, and he can't help but think that the angel wings on the back of it suit Beth much better than they do him.**

**Dang, almost forgot the disclaimer: I've never owned any of these characters, and sadly I never will.**

The smell of rotting flesh always made me wince even though it lingered most everywhere we went now. I'm not quite sure how I managed not to vomit as Daryl and I ran from the prison- burnt flesh, both fresh and decaying, carried on the wind that raced after us. Or maybe I did. I still wasn't clear on what exactly happened as we stumbled away from our once home, even weeks later.

I swung the red shopping basket in my loose grip as I strolled along next to the nearly barren shelves of the picked over Al's Super Market. I could hear Daryl a few aisles over, muttering and growling under his breath and the solid clunk as he set things back on the shelf that he thought were useless to us.

I nudged an empty crushed pop can with my foot, watching as the dull and faded metal slid under the shelf to knock against something with a quiet _thunk._ I knelt down, setting the basket next to me as I pressed my cheek to the cold and dusty floor. I moved the pop can aside again, and reached in blindly for whatever it knocked against. My fingers knocked into the waxy paper that was wrapped around canned goods, and nearly sent the can farther under the shelf with the nudge. I grabbed at it, tucking my tongue between my teeth as I finally managed to draw it out from beneath the shelf.

I turned it round and round in my hands, and was presented with the picture of bright red cherries dripping in sugary looking syrup and encased in pie crust. Cherry pie filling- the kind that Mama had refused to buy and the kind that Daddy had once snuck to me because I had been curious to how it would taste and the kind that we had both eagerly dug into with only a pair of spoons and mischievous giggles-

A hiccup escaped me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. I set the can down in the shopping basket next to me with trembling hands. I squeezed my eyes shut, forced myself to take a deep breath, rebottling the hysteria inside of me.

_Hysteria can wait,_ I reasoned with myself, tucking whispering strands of sweat soaked blonde hair behind my ear, _an empty and hungry belly can't._ I forced myself onto my knees, grabbing onto the shelf for support. I would do what I had done for the past weeks- When it was my turn for the watch, I would hold my knife like I used to hold Daddy and Mama's hands, and smother the sobs that would try to escape as Daryl slept beside me and every sound that came out of the darkness my bones shudder.

Quiet footsteps dragged behind me. Obviously Daryl had already found what he needed, and was eager to go. I sighed at the nonexistent patience of the redneck, and bent over to retrieve the basket. "Really Daryl, I know that you think I'm pretty easy to sneak up on, but I'm not deaf-"

I dropped the basket with a thud, and nearly tripped over it as I recoiled from the stench of the walker that was coming toward me with unseeing eyes and a gaping mouth. It was dressed in what could've once been a bright red polo, and still had a spattered name tag that cheerfully read- Hello! My name is Al. Its breath wheezed out of it in a weak snarl, wafting another gust of parfum de zombie towards me.

One of its hands reached out towards me, the skin at its fingertips scraped away as if it had been clawing at something for a long time. I gagged at the smell again, stumbling backwards but not fast enough. Its curled hand caught in the collar of the flannel button down I had stripped off of a fallen mannequin another store over. Only then did I remember that my knife was tucked in my boot, but bending over would provide a clear shot at my neck and shoulders.

I tried to bat its arm away, kicking at its stomach and knocking it back a few steps. There was a sick and wet sounding pop as the walker's shoulder probably just popped out of its socket, and the gentle skittering of buttons as they rolled free over the floor. I fell down hard on my rump, my own shoulder knocking against the hard tile of the floor hard enough that it made me whine with pain. I tried to scoot backwards with one hand as the other reach down to my boot to grasp the handle of my knife with the other. The walker loomed over me, growling as it reached down with a jaw open and gnashing teeth. "Daryl," his name escaped my mouth in a whisper that I doubt he had heard even with his sensitive hearing.

I didn't think about what Carol or Daryl had taught me, to only aim for the head. I stabbed the nearest part of the walker, which just happened to be its lower abdomen. It didn't stop though; it kept coming down towards me, its weight forcing me to brace a hand around its throat to keep its mouth away from any part of me. I could barely hear any noises it made above the rushing of blood in my ears and the whooshing of breath in my lungs. I dragged the knife up, feeling it catch on its ribs and the splash of sticky, too dark blood and decaying innards soak into my newly ruined shirt. "Daryl," I cried out weakly, my arm shaking from holding the walker's weight suspended above me. It craned its neck down, aiming now for my forearm, which was closer than I ever wanted it to be to a walker's mouth. "Daryl," I called again, louder this time even though it was hard to draw in a breath with the dead weight on my lungs, no pun intended.

I wrenched the blade free, and sunk it into the walker's eye just as an arrow punched through the other. I went still, the softly glinting tip of the arrow mere inches away from my own face. Tan, grimy hands appeared on the now dead walker's shoulders, hauling it off of me with a grunt.

Those same hands jerked me up into a standing position, and immediately went to checking if I had been bitten anywhere. Walker guts that had landed on my midriff went _splat_ when they hit the floor. Icy and squinting blue eyes followed his hands' path before both of Daryl's hands settled on either side of my face and forced me to look at him.

"How in the hell did ya not hear that walker sneaking up behind ya?" He demanded to know, wild eyes boring into mine and forcing me to tell the truth.

Another shot of adrenaline rushed through my system when Daryl looked at me like that, eyes and face so intent and focused. "I-I-" I couldn't form any other words, much less an answer.

"Din't I teach ya anythin' girl?" He let go of me, and stalked over to the walker. I fell back against the shelves weakly, my own hands taking the place of where his had been. I could still feel the rough callouses pressing into my cheeks, the heat from his hands soaking into the skin to make it flush with a rosy blush.

Daryl shoved the walker onto its back with a solid shove of his foot, and ripped his arrow and my knife out. He stomped back over to me, and slammed the bloodied arrow down on the shelf next to my head. He forced me to grip the knife, large fingers overlapping mine as he jerked my arm up so that the tip of the knife was hovering less than an inch away from a still glaring blue eye.

"Always aim fer the eyes, ya got a clear shot at the brain that way." He grouched. Daryl brought our hands down, and took a step back, running that same hand through his hair with a scoff. Absently, I tucked my knife back into my boot, jerking upright when he spun around to jab an accusing finger in my direction. "What was so important that ya couldn't even hear a damn walker sneakin' up behin d'ya?"

Somehow, my feet carried me past him a few feet away to where the basket and can of cherry pie filling was still sitting innocently on the floor. I didn't have to turn around to feel him hovering behind me, looking over my shoulder.

"Pie fillin'." The hunter's voice shook with his barely contained rage. "Ya couldn't even defend yerself from a walker 'cause of pie fillin."

Everything inside me was still surprisingly numb. Adrenaline was still rushing through me too quickly and sweeping away emotions that would've overwhelmed me at any other time. I ran my hands over the picture again, the fork full of pie still positioned for the perfect bite. "Mama refused to buy pie filling, 'cause she knew how to make her own, so she said that there weren't no point in buyin' it. I always wanted to know what it tasted like, so Daddy snuck some to me one day when I was about ten. We hid out in the barn for almost an hour eatin' it out of the can with spoons and swearing that we wouldn't never tell Mama."

Daryl drew in a sharp breath behind me. I just continued to trace the pictures. The drawing was good, I admitted. It looked as though if I just reached out far enough, that I could grasp the fork and finally get to taste that pie-

Daryl took a step closer to me, but stopped when something snapped quietly under his boot. I craned my neck to look down at it with him as he removed his foot. It was a button, snapped into two perfect halves.

"Beth, what is this?" Daryl's sandpaper growl rasped out of his throat, even though we both knew what it was.

"It's a button," I answered plainly. Those intense blue eyes swept over the floor again as things inside me began to settle down again. I saw them catch on each and every button they found strewn around us.

"Yea, but what're they from?" Again, with the nonexistent patience and the glaring squint.

A cool breeze ran along my belly as I spun around to face him, and I crossed my arms over my chest to keep some of the chill away from my skin-

I gasped, dropping the pie filling back into the bakset and immediately grabbing each gaping side of my shirt and crossing it tightly over my stomach without a second thought. I let out a shuddering and breathy groan that had Daryl's eyes flashing as more of the sticky walker blood rubbed off on my ribs and stomach.

"They're off of my shirt," I whimpered unnecessarily, loose strands of hair brushing my cheeks and encouraging the red that was overtaking my face.

"That was one'a yer new ones too, wasn't it?" Daryl's voice was slightly choked. My curiosity overpowered my embarrassment for the slightest of seconds to study the man's usually hardened and cold mask of a face. But there was no sign of that mask, something raw and unfamiliar overtaking his features. It made Daryl's usually piercing eyes darker, more dangerous in a way that I strangely wasn't afraid of.

As soon as he realized that I was staring, I dropped my gaze back down to the floor, and angled myself away from him. "Yes," I replied miserably, feeling the nasty gunk begin to dry and cake on my skin. I didn't' care how long it took, Daryl was going to help me find a stream, and I was going to get to wash all this off.

"It completely ruined then?" He asked, rubbing at the back of his neck and now looking anywhere but me.

"Seems like," I replied just as awkwardly, shrugging and immediately wishing that I hadn't. I huffed out a breath through clenched teeth, the sound coming out as a pained hiss.

"What's wrong now?" Daryl's voice was gruff, but immediately he was at my side again, eyes scanning up and down and everywhere else for any type of injury.

"Shoulder hurts to move. I knocked it when I fell down on the floor. It's probably bruised, right down to the bone." I released a pained grunt when I tried to rotate it, shirt slipping open again without my consent.

Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head before going behind me. He was mumbling under his breath again, something about "-rottin' in hell with that old perv over there, Dixon," Before he began tugging my arms free of the ruined shirt.

"Just whaddya think yer doin' Daryl Dixon?" I cried out indignantly, certain that my skin was flushed all the way down to the walker guts now. I tried to squirm away from him, biting my lip to keep the whimpers of pain in.

He poked his head over my shoulder again, not that it was particularly hard seeing as he was more than a full head taller than I was. I stilled my struggling, his cheek so close to mine that I could practically feel the scrape of the stubble against my skin. "Hey, knock it off, yer gonna hurt that shoulder of yers worse if you keep screwin' around."

"So then why're ya trying to get me out of my shirt?" I nagged, clearing my throat as those calloused fingers that had saved my life only moments ago gently eased the fabric off of my arms and left goose bumps in their wake.

"Ya wanna wear this 'til we find someplace for you to wash up?" He challenged. I couldn't even begin to formulate before he finished with a smug, "Didn't think so."

"And what am I s'posed to wear 'til then?" I wondered, immediately crossing my arms over my chest even though the only thing Daryl was seeing was my back. I shivered in the cool, dusty air of the abandoned grocery store.

My breath hitched in my chest when Daryl's arms came around me, forcing my hand down to my sides. I was never able to focus completely when he attempted to teach me how to shoot his crossbow with his arms around me. And he wondered why the only time I was completely off the mark was when he tried to help me.

I was brought back into the present by a shifting of fabric behind me, before Daryl carefully settled his vest over my shoulders. For the first time in weeks, I didn't smell walker, only the musky scent of earth and sweat that clung to the well-loved and worn leather vest. Daryl snaked an arm around my waist again to hold the two sides closed as he wrapped his belt around my middle. I was distinctly aware of how I could feel his heart beating through the two thin layers that separated us, and how his chest rose and fell too quickly against my back for some reason- nerves perhaps? The thought spun away as I turned my head, and my lips brushed against his cheek. I squeaked when he jerked the belt tight in surprise, and at the way his warm breath cascaded over my somehow still chilled shoulder.

"Sorry 'bout that." His voice seemed huskier than normal. His movements slowed as he carefully threaded the belt through the last hole, my waist abnormally small. Lack of regular and square meals had stolen any of the womanly curves that I might've gotten had life been different.

"S'okay," I breathed out, but I don't think Daryl even heard me. He drew back, hands still resting on either side of my slight waist before one trailed up to span over my shoulder blades.

I shivered as he traced the shape of the angel wings, as if he was actually tracing them on my bare skin. "Well I'll be damned. Ya look better in this than I ever did." He mumbled, although there was no trace of real jealousy in his voice, only… awe? And by the way that his fingers kept moving over the lines of the feathers in the wings, he hadn't meant for me to hear him say that.

I spun around, knocking Daryl's hand aside, and ignoring the twinge in my shoulder and the walker guts and blood still smeared over my stomach and grabbed his face and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

Our teeth clashed together, and his stubble scraped at my chin and palms as I anchored my hands in his hair, and I'm pretty sure that I got walker blood in his surprisingly soft but tangled hair.

When I drew away, my lips felt puffy and cold without Daryl's on them, but it was worth it to see the dazed expression on his face before his opened his eyes. I wondered if that's how he looked when he woke up. When we switched for watch, he always opened his eyes before I could get anywhere near touching him to wake him up.

I pecked another kiss at his lips as they parted to say something, probably to lecture me on how he was old enough to be my father and that getting close to one another in this type of environment would only end in heartbreak for one of us. I stooped to snatch the pie filling out of the basket. I breezed past him, nearly floating on air despite the fact that I was covered with walker blood.

Daryl's hand caught around my wrist, jerking me back into him. "Just where do ya think you're goin'?" He rasped, surprise coloring his tone. I tilted my head coyly, and twisted out of his grasp, dragging him behind me now.

"Well, I'm gonna find somewhere to wash up, and if you're lucky I'll share this pie fillin' with you."

Both of us squinted at the sunlight beating down on the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Heat rose off of the asphalt in waves. I danced ahead even though Daryl had stopped behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see him shading his eyes and looking up at the sky as if asking _'Are ya sure God?'_ before shaking his head and slinging his crossbow over his back again, and tucking me into his side.

"Whatever you say Angel, whatever you say."

**Okay, this may very possibly be crap because usually it takes me only forever and an infinity or two to finish writing **_**anything**_**, and I did this in about roughly three hours. Please let me know if you guys find any errors in here, and I'll correct them as soon as possible. **

**Reviews are loved, the people who write them even more so.**

**SNO.**


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